Justification
by hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: Ron faces a rival for Hermione's affections, a force even more unstoppable than Voldemort. But is everything as it seems? Fluffy, short.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

CHAPTER 1: SENORITA

Ronald Beowulf Weaseley ran his fingers through his red hair and tried not to look nervous. It was August 15th; he had two weeks of glorious summer holidays left before the inevitable fun and frolics of his sixth year at Hogwarts (dodging Dementors, trying to outwit the Dark Lord) so he should have been very happy. Yeah, that's right, happy and relaxed. But he wasn't, because he was about to face his greatest test yet.

He was about to meet Hermione's parents.

Of course, he'd met the Grangers before, but he hadn't _met them_ met them. Hadn't come in trying to look respectable and responsible and the type of young man you'd gladly entrust with your daughter's safety (although, in all fairness it was usually Hermione who looked after his safety…) He'd only been trying not to look like a pillock in front of her before this, having long ago accepted that he looked like a pillock in front of everyone else… But now, he had to, well, be-

_Be a nice young man_.

That's what his mother had told him just before she'd bundled him into the Ministry car (Mrs. Weaseley had somehow managed to smile encouragingly at him whilst glaring threateningly at the twins and Ginny), which would take him and Harry to their new safe house. Dumbledore had (rightly, in Ron's opinion) decided that The Burrow was just too dangerous, and had thus sent The Boy Who Lived (and consequentially, The Boy Who Wore Maroon Jumpers and Tried Not to Fall over The Boy Who Lived) to a new hiding place. Hermione's.

Ron had grinned for a week when he'd found out. He told his dad that it was because he was fascinated to see a real Muggle house (a suggestion which had elicited a few ribald suggestions from Gred and Forge about what exactly he should go looking for). He told Harry it was because he's get away from his family for a little while. Nobody seemed to believe him though, which was strange, because everyone knew how honest he was.

Yep, that was him. Honest. Straight as the day was long. No ulterior motives in this, just a genuine concern for his two friends.

Hermione had come tearing out of the house, that bushy hair flowing behind her like a sail, when the car had pulled up. She'd hugged Harry (far harder than Ron thought was exactly necessary). Ron probably would've gotten just such a hug, but he couldn't get out of the car. It felt like he was rooted to the chair, and no matter how much he urged his legs to move, they wouldn't obey. All he'd managed was a jerk, which had sprayed his pumpkin juice all over his new jeans (and yes, it was entirely coincidence that this was the first time he'd worn them even though he'd had them for three months and he'd asked Ginny for advice on how they looked).

Now Hermione was peering curiously in through the car window at him. She seemed annoyed (she usually seemed annoyed at him). The big grin, which had split her face when she'd seen Harry, had disappeared. Ron ran his fingers through his hair one more time and summoning every ounce of will power he had forced himself to stand and get out of the car, nodding awkwardly to Hermione as he did so and ardently wishing that one of his legs hadn't gone dead, since it was making him limp. Mr. And Mrs. Granger were looking at him oddly, probably because he looked more like a turtle than a human being. Taking a deep breath, he hauled his bag out and swung it onto his back, accidentally hitting Hermione in the process.

Yep, he thought. Everything was going _swimmingly_.

A/N This is the firstest fanfic i ever wrote! And yes, it's cute and fluffy, he hee!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

CHAPTER 2: CRY ME A RIVER

By eight o'clock that night Ron had regained the feeling in his legs and was sitting cross-legged on his bed in the guest room trying to get Pig to calm down. Since he and Harry were supposed to be in constant contact with the Order of the Phoenix, he'd had the annoying little twit foisted on him so that he could "keep in touch". Ron suspected that his mum just wanted the twittering pest out of her house. In fact, Pig was annoying him so much that he hoped Crookshanks would take a dislike to it. He certainly wouldn't get angry at the cat if it did _that_.

Ron looked around, already bored with his surroundings. Muggle houses weren't nearly so interesting as his dad said. If you poked something you were unfamiliar with it didn't poke you back. It didn't answer in a funny voice or blow up. None of the pictures on the walls even moved, although Ron was sure that Hermione had some wizard pictures from Hogwarts. In fact, there was nothing of the Hermione he knew in this house, no indication that within its walls there lived the maddest, smartest, barmiest (coolest) witch in the whole world. (Not that he'd thought all that much about it or anything).

Ron, being a Weaseley, couldn't stay put long when he was bored. Growing up in a large, boisterous family, the concept of privacy was totally foreign (privacy in The Burrow meant "Get the hell out of your mother's way until she's gotten it out of her system with dad.") When you were bored you just went and bothered one of your siblings until they provided some entertainment, either by cheering you up or starting a fight. He padded out through the house, determined to find Harry (where was The Boy That Falls Over whenever Cho Chang Smiles anyway?) terrified that he might run into Mr. Granger (who, Ron was convinced, hadn't smiled at him even once during dinner. Ron feared that his attempts at charm might have convinced him that he was some kind of higher functioning autistic). Downstairs he would hear the television blaring (he'd take the sounds of Fred and George blowing things up any day). He tiptoed across to Hermione's room, determined to ask her if she knew where Harry was.

Knocking lightly on her door, he called out "Hermione?" a few times but there was no answer. Maybe she was listening to that diskman thing she'd brought to The Burrow last summer, he thought. She must be in there. Where else could she be? Gingerly he opened the door and poked his head in…

And that's when he saw _him_. His rival. The Muggle wombat that Hermione had plastered all over her walls. Some big, tall lump of muscle who (judging by most of the posters in the room) had a severe allergy to shirt fabric. Ron stared, agog and aghast, at the sheer volume of images on her walls. He read the name on the posters with scorn. _Justin Timberlake_. Well, he sounded like a pillock already. This, this, tree-with-arms-and-legs seemed to be everywhere, and usually wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Ron was out of breath: he couldn't believe his eyes. His innocent Hermione came home to look at this? This was nothing but porn for teenage girls! If he'd had pictures like that on the walls of his room his mother would've hauled him out of bed by the ear and given him a stern talking to, that was for certain! This was indecent, that's what it was and if good hair (and admittedly he had very good hair, which made it even more annoying) and muscles were all that Hermione Granger were interested in then he was just going to pack his bags and walk out the door-

_You can't do that, you twat!_ A voice in his head yelled. _Are you just going to let some muppet with an allergy to cotton and an over-developed relationship with his comb chase you away from the girl you've-you've... always wanted to get help in Arithmancy from_? _**No!**_ You're a Weaseley, and Weaseleys don't give up! They get beaten up and drop things and sometimes wear completely dodgy dress robes in public but they don't give up. Who are you, this heartening voice demanded, a Gryffindor or a Slytherin? The bloke who survived The Forbidden Forest, The Whomping Willow and the Department of Mysteries? Or some little cupcake who runs at the first sign of trouble?

But look at him! Ron's other inner voice wailed. I'll never look like that! If I even attempted to do that on the hood of a car I'd dislocate something. How could I ever compete with him? And he's a Muggle. He's got _mystery_. I've got a scar from a rat bite. And, well, I don't _want_ her thinking of me like that. If you're a Cleansweep you don't want a girl expecting you to be a Firebolt, now do you? Ron had unknowingly, sunk down on her bed. He felt sick to his stomach, right sick. The only other experience that came close was when he'd first seen her on the arm of another wombat, one Vicky Krum. Why did everyone go haring after this thing called love if this was the only way it made you feel?

Because it's _Hermione_, the other voice said. And she'd be worth anything. She'd be worth… more than the Chudley Cannons winning the Premiership, and that was a fact. So sit down, shut up and practice your pout, because if it takes all night you're going to figure out exactly what this wanker Timberplank's got that makes her tick…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

CHAPTER 3: ROCK YOUR BODY

Know thy enemy and know thyself, and thou wilt always be victorious, that's what his mum told Ginny whenever she went after a boy. Ron supposed it could be applied to this situation. Of course, the only thing he really wanted to do was track this Timbertrunk down and show him the business end of his wand. But since A) that would land him in Azkaban, and he'd had enough of Dementors already and 2) knowing how mental Hermione was, she'd probably get upset and take the plank's side and then there would be a big fight and she wouldn't talk to him and that git would just be smirking away in the background feeling all smug because now he'd been left alone with the coolest girl in the world and they'd end up married and it would all be that wombat's fault. So, no to the wand plan.

In the three days since Black Friday, Ron had thought a lot about the appeal of The Git. It seemed to him that the Timberpuddle had two key weapons at his disposal. Firstly, there was the hair. Now Ron had never previously thought much about his hair, or how others viewed it, but clearly if he wanted to compete with the Human Tree then that would have to change. He'd been very fond of making it stick up like he'd just jumped off his broom, until he'd heard Parvati telling three fourth year girls that he just did that to look like Harry. So he'd promptly gone back to combing it once in the morning and then leaving it to its own devices. But Timberlank didn't do that. Maybe there was some charm he used to make his hair glossy but manly. Ron chewed thoughtfully on a chocolate frog and decided to look that up just as soon as he got back to Hogwarts.

The second great weapon seemed to be (and Ron hesitated to even think this about another bloke) his body. It was quite impressive (though Ron felt sure that he wouldn't last three minutes playing Quidditch). Now Ron knew that he wasn't exactly a small bloke because the only small Weaseley was Ginny, and all those hours of running for his life and working to perfect the goalie skills had paid off: he was bigger and burlier than Harry, for example, would ever be. But to be frank, if Timberlake were a racehorse then he was a donkey: same kind of build, totally different over-all effect. Maybe plankboy had to make sure he had a great body, he thought glumly, since he couldn't really wear clothes with that _allergy_ of his, now could he? A panicked thought occurred to Ron. What if the, ahem, "allergy," was what really tickled Hermione's fancy? He looked around at the posters. What if the only way to get her attention was to strike one of those poses? His brothers would disown him. Harry would probably never speak to him again. But if that was what it took… Carefully, Ron looked around. He once again poked his head out of her door just to make sure nobody was around. And then he did the Unthinkable. "Repetitio," he murmured, pointing his wand at her stereo.

Music flooded the room and Ron knew without being told that this was the Twit's music. It sounded smug. Smug in a hey-I'm-naked-in-front-of-your-girlfriend kind of a way. But it had a strong beat and you could dance to it. Ron had surreptitiously watched anything to do with Timberlake on the Muggle's answer to WWN, (a new habit which had already led to some uncomfortable moments with Harry) and was sure he could ape the moves. Checking one more time that he was alone, Ron ordered the music a little bit higher, closed his eyes and began to dance.

With his eyes closed it wasn't that difficult. He had to remember not to move his arms much, and (he grimaced at the thought) to wiggle his backside as much as possible. That seemed to be the extent of the Muggle's athletic abilities. Ron frowned, his face screwed up with concentration. It wasn't right, he must be doing _something_ wrong. Maybe if he was singing too? He pointed his wand at his throat, quickly chanted "Elvissium," and began to sing along, all the time paying more attention to what he was doing than he had in any of his O.W.L.s. He frowned again. He was sure that he could hit that high note if he just tried hard enough. "Whoa! The damage is done so I guess I'll be leaving!" He tried. It sounded like a croak. "Whoa!" He tried another time. Even higher. "Whoa!" Not good enough. He took another deep breath, determined. "Whoa!"

"Ron mate, is there something you want to tell me?" Ron jumped, banged into Hermione's desk and knocked himself over, sending her obligatory pile of books sky-high. Luckily, his prone body prevented any of the books being damaged. He looked up to see a rather worried Harry staring down at him. And behind him, one hand over her mouth, looking somewhere between horrified and furious (a look he knew oh so well) stood Hermione.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

PART 4: LIKE I LOVE YOU

"Ronald Weaseley, what the hell do you think you're doing!?!" Hermione looked angrier than he had ever seen her. She'd called him Ronald. That wasn't good. In fact, that was even more worrying to Ron than when Professor Snape used his full name. It was like a one word declaration of war. Hermione's fists were balled up at her side, the knuckles white. Her face was going maroon with anger. This was Not Good.

"Now look Hermione, I can explain-"

"Explain what? That you're an absolute and utter tosser who goes poking around in his friends' rooms for fun and doesn't even ask their permission before he does it?"

"Yeah, well-" Ron could feel his ire rising, egged on by his own embarrassment. "Well, you're the one who should be ashamed of herself! At least my room isn't some den of iniquity dedicated to a Muggle twat who wouldn't last five minutes on a Quidditch pitch! And if you want to keep people out of your boudoir, missy, then you should lock the door!"

"In my own house? Have you lost what was left of that pea-sized mind of yours? This is MY HOME, Ron! I don't need to lock my doors and there's nothing wrong with my room."

"Oh yeah, nothing wrong except that it's plastered with pictures of that wombat! Harry, look at him, you can tell he's a muppet, can't you?"

Harry looked at him. There were moments that defined a close relationship like theirs and Harry could tell this was one of them. There was really only one thing he could say. "Ron, mate, I'm not touching that with a ten foot barge-pole. Sorry." And with that he walked out.

For a moment both Ron and Hermione were silent. It didn't last. "Ron," she said, her voice now deathly quiet. Ron was reminded of the silence just before Aragog had announced he would eat him. "I think you should go. Now." He looked at her and was astonished to see that she was close to tears. Suddenly he felt terrible.

"Look, I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't mean anything by it, I as looking for you and I poked my head around your door and then I saw this, and well, I suppose I just went a little bit nuts for a minute. I mean, haven't you ever heard of it, whatd'yacallit, temporary insanity? Just please don't be angry with me. _Please_."

She looked up at him, and Ron felt as if she could see straight through him. "What were you doing here Ron?"

He could feel himself going red. He wished he could come up with a lie, anything rather than admit what he had been doing. But the only other explanation was that A) he really _was_ a closet Justin Timberlake fan or B) he'd been taking the piss out of Hermione for _being_ a closet Justin Timberlake fan. Neither was at all appealing. So he would just have to tell her the truth and pray that she'd speak to him again.

"I thought that this, him, The Git, was what you wanted. I thought the only way you'd ever want me was if I was like The Git. So really, I was just doing what I thought _you_ wanted." He looked up at her with a hopeful grin.

"So you did this for me? You broke into my room, looked through my stuff, for me?" Her voice seemed slightly strangled. And then suddenly she looked up suddenly, the same look on her face as when she figured out the answer to an Arithmancy problem. "You were trying to do him, weren't you? Me and Harry heard you in the hall. You were trying to do Justin."

"You can be bloody sure I'll never _do_ Justin Timberlake."

"YOU WERE!" And now she was grinning, hopping from foot to foot like a child on Christmas morning. Ron had the sudden sinking feeling that he would be hearing about this till he was 80. "You were trying to do Justin Timberlake Ron!"

"Was not! And the only reason I was even thinking about that wombat was because I was trying to figure out what you saw in him!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Ron's mind, for maybe the third time in his life, had gone absolutely blank. This was the end of everything.

He felt her sit down next to him. He couldn't look up. He'd never look up ever again. And then he heard her say "Finite Incantatum." He did look up then, and what he saw took his breath away. The room shimmered as the glamour lifted: the posters disappeared, and in their place Ron saw the room he'd expected. Awards from school. A Gryffindor scarf pinned to the wall. A poster for The Weird Sisters. Lots of books. And the wizarding photographs Ron had missed in the rest of the house. Him, Hermione and Harry grinning at the end of their first year. Hermione in her gown for the Yule Ball. The D.A. waving at the camera, Dean and Ginny proudly carrying a "Down with Umbridge," sign. There were so many of them, so many happy memories. And then he noticed something unusual. There was only one of them together, without Harry or anyone else. It was in the middle, spellotaped in top of two others. Given pride of place.

He looked at her. "They make my parents nervous, the moving photos. That's why there's none in the house. I can only keep them in here. And I- I was afraid that you'd well, guess. That the picture would give it away." She smiled a funny little smile. "So I bewitched the room. Gave everyone what I thought they wanted to see."

"So you don't like Justin Timberplank?"

"No. I like Ronald Weaseley." The grin grew wider. "I like Ronald Weaseley," she shouted, a sudden, delighted grin splitting her face. "_I'm_ his senorita."

"You're mental."

"Don't I know it! Look who I'm going out with!"

Ron grinned. He'd have to write to Mr. Timberlake and thank him.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of sopyright is intended.

**EPILOGUE: _The council of El Ron_**

_Two weeks later_

"Ron, do you know who Orlando Bloom is?" Harry and Ron were sitting on their own on the Hogwarts Express. The girls were off buying snacks, and of course they wouldn't have the pleasure of the twins' company this year. It was just the two of them, blokes together.

"No. Oh, wasn't he one of the students from Durmstrang in fourth year? The one with the eye patch and the black teeth?"

Harry thought on this for a moment. "No, Ron, that's _definitely_ not him."

"Oh. Well then I don't have a monkeys who he is. Why?"

Suddenly Harry was fascinated with the windowpane. "Oh, no reason. Ginny just has a picture of him in her room, is all."

There was a moment of profound silence. The two friends exchanged looks. "Muggle git," they said in unison.

A/N Hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for any and all reviews. Cheers!


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